*****

(Angel enters his small living room to find Spike sprawled over his furniture, reading a comic book)

ANGEL: Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: (doesn't look up) I missed you too, Peaches.
ANGEL: I didn't.
SPIKE: Didn't miss yourself? (looks at an imaginary watch) Awfully early on in the evening for you to be getting cryptic, isn't it?
ANGEL: You know what I mean. Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: Sure know how to enter a room, dontcha? (impersonates Angel) "Feet off the coffee table". You'd carry off some semblance of authority if you weren't such an absolute toff, y'know?
ANGEL: I'm not.
SPIKE: Oh, very convincing.
ANGEL: I don't need to convince you.
SPIKE: Then why do you persist in *trying*?
ANGEL: (deadpan) I eventually thought one day your IQ would rise above that of a glass of water, but I guess I was wrong on that one.
SPIKE: (mild shock) Did you just make a joke?
ANGEL: Yep, it's still at the same level as usual -- that of substitute chemistry teachers.
SPIKE: Ha bloody ha.
ANGEL: Yes, it was rather funny. Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: I do believe you overestimate your comedic abilities.
ANGEL: Oh I don't know about that.
SPIKE: Name the funniest thing you've ever done, wanker.
ANGEL: Well, I sired you, and you're a laughing stock. That counts for something.
SPIKE: (growling) Watch it, Paingel.
ANGEL: Matter of fact, I haven't had to make a joke in years, you're *still* causing people to fall over in hysterics.
SPIKE: Well... at least I don't mince...
ANGEL: What?
SPIKE: Mince. You don't walk, you mince.
ANGEL: (irritated) I do not.
SPIKE: You sway your hips when you walk! Admit it!
ANGEL: I admit to nothing.
SPIKE: (triumphant) See?
ANGEL: See what?
SPIKE: You know as well as I do any non-admission is a bigger admission than if you made the admission in the first place.
ANGEL: I'm impressed.
SPIKE: Good. (beat) By what?
ANGEL: Your use of three-syllabled words. Well, I guess, to be fair, it's only *one* three-syllabled word used numerously.
SPIKE: Fag off.
ANGEL: Oh, you've gone back to one. (sighs dramatically) Don't worry, you'll master rudimentary speech one day.
SPIKE: And end up talking like you, Mr Dic-tion? No thankyou.
ANGEL: What's the matter with the way I talk?
SPIKE: (shrugs) You talk like a nancyboy.
ANGEL: I don't.
SPIKE: You do. Especially when you're insulting me.
ANGEL: (puzzled) How so?
SPIKE: Just before. You could have said anything to me. You could have called me a little arsewipe or a stupid fucker or anything. What did you do?
ANGEL: What *did* I do?
SPIKE: You likened my IQ to that of a *substitute chemistry teacher*. Fuck, that's pathetic!
ANGEL: Just because I'm right...
SPIKE: Sure you are, pet. And I'm a humanitarian.
ANGEL: (protests) It was a good joke!
SPIKE: Oh, bloody hilarious. You can take that joke out on the road.
ANGEL: You're a jackass.
SPIKE: That one, too! Mortals all over the country will fork out hard-earned dosh to see you perform your two jokes in crowded comedy clubs and smoky bars.
ANGEL: Why do I put up with you?
SPIKE: You could be famous, and rich, and have lots of jokies.
ANGEL: You could be staked, and dust, and have your very own urn.
SPIKE: Building up your repertoire, huh? That's three and counting...
ANGEL: I'm seeing where you're going with this. Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: (grinning maniacally and recrossing his feet) Oh really?
ANGEL: Yes.
SPIKE: That transparent am I?
ANGEL: Like a *pain* of glass.
SPIKE: Oooh, the Mick's got wordplay happening. That's four.
ANGEL: Have you got my big finale sorted out in your twisted mind, yet?
SPIKE: I'm thinking maybe you could pull your pants down and show them your dick. That always makes me laugh.
ANGEL: Actually, it makes you moan like a bitch in heat.
SPIKE: (indignantly) Does not.
ANGEL: I'm thinking-
SPIKE: Does it hurt?
ANGEL: It kind of itches...(continues as if never interrupted) maybe you could come out for the finale. You're the biggest joke I know.
SPIKE: (sourly) Oh sod off.
ANGEL: (leans in close) It'd *slay* 'em.
SPIKE: (pushing Angel away) Fuck you.
ANGEL: Already have.
SPIKE: Yeah, worst four seconds of my unlife.
ANGEL: You're full of it
SPIKE: S'cuz you don't do a good enough job...
ANGEL: That's not what you whimpered last night..
SPIKE: (snorts) that was a general sound of boredom.
ANGEL: So boredom sounds like (in a breathy voice) 'Angelusssss.. ooh yeah..baby...ride 'em cowboy' now?
SPIKE: That's called taking the piss. Something which you do quite well...(grins lecherously)...literally.
ANGEL: (huffily) That's rich coming from someone who's gag reflex was completely gone *before* they were turned...
SPIKE: Y�get that if you�re the best shag in the state. I started early.
ANGEL: You�d like to think that, wouldn�t you?
SPIKE: Oh, I know it, you mincing hairstyle.
ANGEL: (startled) I�m a *what*?
SPIKE: Like that? Or do you prefer trotting poof?
ANGEL: You're an idiot.
SPIKE: (thoughtfully) I could say mincing poof...
ANGEL: (sighs loudly)
SPIKE: ... or trotting hairstyle...
ANGEL: I'd recommend that you never have childer of your own, but then I remember you're impotent, so I'd only be wasting my voice.
SPIKE: (scowls) And what a lovely voice it is, all nasal and dripping with 'yes, mortal. no, mortal. three bags full, mortal.'
ANGEL: Ooh, you wear bitchiness well, Spike.
SPIKE: You think? Does it go with my eyes?
ANGEL: Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: (scratches his ankle with one boot) Say pretty please.
ANGEL: I'd rather have a sword shoved through my chest
SPIKE: It can be arranged
ANGEL: Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
SPIKE: Oh yeah...the one that says 'Fashion Cafe: Vladivostok'
ANGEL: Speaking of which... how did that shirt get in your drawer, anyway?
SPIKE: I like the baby tee cut.
SPIKE: Gotta show off my rippling shoulder blades now, don't I?
ANGEL: (rolls eyes) You can't get over yourself, can you?
SPIKE: Well....if I removed a rib or two....(trails off seriously thinking about it)
ANGEL: Spike?
SPIKE: (shrugs and smiles brightly) But that's what I have you for, isn't it, Peaches?
ANGEL: Spike?
SPIKE: Yes?
ANGEL: Hell is other people -- and all of them are you.
SPIKE: That makes five, doesn't it?
ANGEL: Six, you forgot the inherent hilarity in you.
SPIKE: Nonce.
ANGEL: Nonce's Childe.
SPIKE: You're an embarrassment, you know?
ANGEL: Just returning the favour.
SPIKE: I don't know why I put up with you...
ANGEL: Because you love me.
SPIKE: (snort) Right.
ANGEL: And you don't like to admit it, so you act like an insufferable juvenile to get my attention..
SPIKE: That�s not true.
ANGEL: No..(thinking) it�s not.
SPIKE: Good.
ANGEL: You don�t need to *act*, you're naturally a pain in my ass
SPIKE: That's seven...but I'm good pain, if I remember correctly..
ANGEL: (smirks) Possibly...I was going to say 'pain in the neck', but you're not exactly that to anyone anymore...
SPIKE: Eight?
ANGEL: Yeah.
SPIKE: How long are you going to throw the chip thing back in my face?
ANGEL: How long are you going to throw the soul thing back in *my* face?
SPIKE: (thinks) Hmmm... catch 22 then.
ANGEL: I guess so.
SPIKE: (curses) I hate you.
ANGEL: I hate you too.
SPIKE: (pause) Wanna shag?
ANGEL: (shrug) Okay. (Angel leans in close and looks from under long lashes) Just one last thing, though...
SPIKE: (beginning to pant) What's that?
ANGEL: (knocking Spike's ankles) Feet off the coffee table.
SPIKE: Pillock. (grin)
ANGEL: Jackass. (smirk)
SPIKE: Jackass' Sire. (chuckle)

(Angel lifts Spike by his collar and drags him off to the bedroom)

{fin}